


Liminal

by MercuryPilgrim



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Adam is a little shit, Adam likes to fuss, Angst, Cute, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, In a very Adam way, Jim is done (but not really), Light Smut, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fill, Secret Relationship, tough guys being soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23756230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryPilgrim/pseuds/MercuryPilgrim
Summary: Adam and Jim, and all their in between moments.
Relationships: Adam Jensen/Jim Miller
Comments: 21
Kudos: 55





	1. "Are you ready?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim doesn't take care of himself. Adam pushes the issue.

Jim's hands feel like claws.

He watches some old man’s hands curl on the desk, knuckles scarred and white.

Some days, he feels disconnected from himself, like he's a taking a ride in a stranger’s body. Watching this fuck-up walk past the nice coffee place on the way to work because he can’t stop there anymore because the very thought of drinking something that he hasn’t made himself fills him with panic.

His office is a mess and it grates on him.

He likes things neat, tidy and ordered.

Still, he doesn’t have time to clean, and he finds he doesn’t really want to. Not for the first time, he wants the result without the work.

It’s already far too late to be still at the office considering when he started, but sitting at his desk thinking himself into circles is better than sitting at home thinking himself into circles.

He sighs and clenches his hands hard enough to feel them ache, and it helps.

Brings him back down to earth for a moment.

He can’t help a yawn, and he needs to move.

He stands up just as the door opens, and he stares as Adam slips in, entirely too quiet for a man his size.

“What are you still doing here?” Jim asks, honestly surprised.

Adam keeps odd hours, this he does know, but usually he doesn’t keep them at the office.

He's barely around when he's on a trail, which he has been for the past week. Some Dvali tough leading him to a harvesting ring, or something.

He's not too sure on the details.

He doesn’t need to be, really. Adam has it handled.

The aug shrugs, his shoulders moving under his coat.

The lenses are retracted, and Jim can’t help but feel privileged at that.

It's been that way since London, at least when they are alone.

“I was just finishing up a report,” Adam murmurs, his voice low and easy. “I saw your light on.”

“Paperwork waits for no man.” Jim replied dryly, and feels oddly divided. Half of him is relaxing into Jensen's company, and the other half is perking up, sending buzzing tingles down to his belly.

He pauses.

“Well, it _shouldn’t.”_

Adam gives him a tiny grin.

“It'll be on your desk tomorrow, bright and early.”

Jim raises an eyebrow.

“And what state will it be in?” he asks snippily, watching Adam’s grin widen a fraction.

“Digital, I assume. Unless you want me to start hand writing them?”

Jim gives him a look.

“You would too, just to spite me. I’m onto you, Jensen.”

Adam huffs out a quiet laugh.

“I’m a lot of things, but petty isn’t one of them.”

Jim’s feeling better already.

That should be more concerning than it is.

He gives Jensen a look that says he knows he's full of shit, and raises an eyebrow at him.

“So, did you need something or did you just come in to make sure I don’t get any work done?”

Adam gives a strange half shrug, expression thoughtful and a little closed off.

“Wanted to ask when you were clocking out, sir. It’s been a long day.”

Jim blinks at him.

The set of Adam's jaw is aggressive, like he is psyching himself up for an argument that he won’t back down on.

His shoulders are set and his legs are a little apart. He's doing that thing that men like them do unconsciously, to show how serious they are.

He’s all cop, in that stance.

That should have been annoying.

Instead, Jim is too tired to push away the concern.

“I’ll finish when I’m done, agent.”

The title was needed. Jim needed it.

“With respect sir,” He says in that tone that says he's about to be disrespectful, “You look like shit.”

That startled a laugh out of him, when usually it would have prompted a snarl.

He's really slipping, these days.

“Thanks for the assessment, agent.” He says dryly. “Now, say that again and I’ll have you chained to your desk for a month.”

Adam's mouth quirks, and Jim glares.

“And don’t say ‘if you can catch me', or some such bullshit.” Jim warns, and that smile widens just a fraction.

Adam looks... tired. Not quite as tired as Jim feels, not the bone deep, falling kind of tired that sneaks up on you when you’re alone, but the kind that says that he’s pulled a few too many late ones and could do with some shut-eye.

Jim misses being that kind of tired.

“Go home, agent.”

Adam doesn’t move.

Jim frowns at him.

“Do I need to make it an order?” he asks, tone biting. He doesn’t like how easily Adam seems to slip past everything that should keep him at a distance.

Adam shrugs.

“No.” He admits, “I was just about to head off anyway.”

Jim is a bit confused.

“So, what are you still doing standing in my office, Jensen?” he asks, snippy.

“You should go home too.”

Jim folds his arms, feeling the annoyance bubble in his belly. For all Jensen seems able to wiggle his way into Jim's head, he can be an irritating bastard when he's latched on something.

“The work will be here in the morning.” The aug says, and Jim wonders why on earth he's fixated on making sure Jim goes home.

“Yes, and so will a fresh pile which means I’ll have twice as much to do.” He says slowly, condescending.

Adam shrugs. “You’ll do it quicker if you’re not so tired.”

He’s right, and Jim knows he is. Still, that’s not the _point._

“Thank you for your concern,” he says in the voice that he knows is not thankful in the slightest. By the way Adam's mouth twitches, he knows it too. “But I do not need your advice, _agent_.”

He bites the words out like he's trying to convince himself.

He _is_ annoyed by the agent refusing to drop the issue, but he’s also flattered. From what he can see, Adam isn’t lying or sucking up. Not that he's the type to brown-nose, but it's something Jim is conscious of. He genuinely seems to want Jim to go home and sleep for no other reason that he’s concerned.

Maybe he's seeing what he wants to see.

If so, he needs to get himself in order.

Enjoying a subordinate's company isn’t a bad thing, but it is when lines start being crossed.

Maybe they left the line back in London and that's why he's finding it hard to see it any more.

Adam shrugs, and heads for the door.

He leaves without another word and Jim wonders if he's offended the man, and decides that he doesn’t care.

He rolls his shoulders and sits back down at his desk.

No sooner as he logged back on and begun scrolling through the next email, when the door opens again.

He's about to lose it at the person who is interrupting him, when he sees that it’s Adam. Again.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?” he snarls, unable to keep his annoyance at bay.

Adam shoots him a look and sits on his sofa without so much as a by your leave. He's carrying his laptop, clearly liberated from his desk.

“You set such a good example sir, I felt like I should get some work done too.”

Jim just stares at him as Adam opens the laptop and starts typing with it on his knees.

He wants to shout.

He wants to laugh.

Instead, he just stands there.

“Jensen, get out of my office.”

Adam tilts his head, and Jim can’t help but appreciate how his eyes crinkle at the corners when he's smiling without smiling.

His eyes are as expressive as the rest of him isn’t.

“Sorry sir, the wifi is down near my pod. Maintenance, I think.”

“What a crock of shit.”

Adam shoots him a look so innocent; he would be convicted on that alone.

“Sir?”

Jim almost growls at him.

But... he appreciates the company.

Fuck, he should toss the insubordinate arse out with a reprimand and ringing ears.

But he doesn’t want to.

He likes having someone there, quietly working near him.

He throws Adam a glare that the aug doesn’t react to.

“Stay quiet, and don’t interrupt me.” He snaps, and Adam just bobs his head with that not-smile in his eyes.

Jim sits back down and focuses on his screen.

He should have been distracted by soft breathing and the occasional sound of fabric moving, but it's soothing.

He's not alone.

It's nice.

He gets more work done than be had done all day, listening to the sound of the night shift working downstairs in the bullpen, and the sounds of Adam typing.

He isn’t sure if Adam is actually working or just pretending, but his face is serious as he types and he seems genuinely engrossed in whatever he's up to.

Occasionally, an email will ping through from him with a file attached, so Jim can assume that he is, in fact, getting something done.

Eventually though, Jim slows down.

It’s way too late and his eyes are losing focus on the screen as he re-reads the paragraph for the sixth time.

He leans back, and rubs his eyes.

Still, he feels accomplished.

He got a lot done, and tomorrow will be so much easier for it.

He makes the executive decision to call it a day and go home. His apartment seems a long way away, and empty.

He doesn’t really want to leave, but for once, he feels able to sleep. He doesn’t went to pass the opportunity up.

He glances over at Adam, who is still dutifully working.

Something warm blooms in his belly before he pushes it down with ruthless discipline.

He logs off, stands up, and stretches.

It feels good on his shoulders, and when he glances down, Adam is watching him.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Done, sir?” he asks, and Jim nods.

“For today.”

Adam just nods at him, closes the lid on his laptop, and sets it aside. He stands up, ready to go.

He waits for Jim.

That makes Jim's heart do something it shouldn’t.

Damn it.

Jim shrugs on his coat and Adam gives him a tiny grin, barely noticeable on his usually stern face.

“Are you ready?” he asks, and holds the door open.

Jim can’t help but look at him.

“Thanks, Adam.” He says simply as they leave, and doesn’t expand on that.

Adam makes a noise in the back of his throat, and Jim hides a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am, four years late, posting a fic for a pairing that only about five people are interested in.
> 
> Still, they are my favourite.


	2. “What did you wish for?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything else in his life might have gone to shit but this- this is good.

Jim has always been bad at emotional stuff.

When he's on the battlefield or directing his people, the words come without having to think about them.

He makes himself known and understood, clear and stern.

When he has to be softer, when he needs to go quiet and gentle, the words are clumsy in his mouth.

They don’t _fit._

It's frustrating.

Neil had always been the better one at that, always with a smile and ready to speak about his feelings.

Honestly, Jim isn’t sure why Neil wanted someone like him in the first place. It wasn’t as if it was easy to miss how closed-off he was, how wound tight. He _tried_ to be more open, he did. But it hadn’t been enough.

He had liked that about Neil once.

Now, it seemed an unnecessary annoyance when his ex got angry about something he hadn’t meant to hurt.

It wasn’t like Jim didn’t get angry, he did, but he seemed to have lost the ability to see when he was pushing Neil's buttons.

He had made some offhand comment about how difficult it was in Prague to get anywhere, what with the curfew and the shaky public transport.

That had ended up as an argument, with Neil shouting at him about excuses.

He had shouted back, and regretted it.

Neil didn’t mean those things, he knows that. It was the anger talking, not the man he used to love.

Used to.

That had been painful to admit, but also liberating.

He suspects he would always care for him in a way, but he knows the feeling of bone deep affection and passion that they had had at the beginning, and this wasn’t it.

He will never forgive him for trying to take his children away.

No.

Bitterness is not productive.

“Jim?”

He glances up, spotting Adam hovering at the doorway.

They are at Jim's place, and Adam looks out of place amongst all the white.

He is dressed down, a faded t-shirt that had probably once been a nice forest green covering his top half, and a pair of black sweatpants hiding his leg augments.

He looks casual.

He looks _good._

Jim doesn’t bother smiling for him. Adam would see through it anyway.

He gestures vaguely to the screen in front of him, the empty lobby of a vidcall saying all he needs it to.

“Neil called.” He mutters, unwilling to be louder. It feels wrong. “It went as well as it usually does.”

Adam doesn’t sigh or frown, he just pads closer, his feet making metallic sounds on Jim's floor.

One hand, black gold and strong enough to tear through concrete, comes to rest on his shoulder.

It’s not a particularly affectionate gesture, but neither of them are particularly affectionate men.

Jim appreciates that, but it doesn’t ease the pit inside himself as much as he wanted it to.

All he feels is guilt.

Neil is on the other side of that screen, upset and hurting, and Jim has another man in his flat ready to give him comfort.

It doesn’t feel right, or fair.

He sighs, bows his head and closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of cleaning products and plastic that permeates his kitchen. There’s a hint of soap there too, from Adam. He must have gotten out of the shower.

It’s early, after all. Brisbane is eight hours ahead of Prague.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Jim feels the snap building since him and quells it through force of will.

Adam isn’t pressing him. He isn’t going to sit Jim down with an understanding, condescending expression and make him talk about it when he doesn’t want to.

He's _asking_.

That distinction means so much he can’t put it into words.

“Not really,” he admits, and it makes him feel a little bit better that he's been honest.

Adam just nods like he gets it, probably because he does, and gives Jim’s shoulder a squeeze.

“You want coffee?” he asks, and his voice is neutral, like nothing happened.

Jim appreciates that about him.

Adam knows that sometimes; you just don’t want to talk about it yet.

Jim lifts his head, tired. He gives Adam a look.

“Yeah, but not the way you make it.”

Adam shrugs, but the corner of his mouth lifts and Jim can’t help but mirror it.

“Suit yourself.” The aug murmurs, dumping more sugar than Jim is ever going to be comfortable with into his mug and stirring.

“I will.” Jim bats back, “You make shitty coffee.”

Adam leans against his kitchen counter, all pleasing lines and grace. He should be on the cover of a magazine or, when Jim is feeling particularly heated, the star of some dirty photoshoot displayed in the red-light district. He’s gorgeous, even dressed down like this.

This, coupled with Adam's crippling allergy to shirts, often makes Jim a very distracted man.

He makes his own coffee and tries to ignore the way Adam watches him.

It's not inherently sexual, nor is it judgemental, but would be easier to react to if it was.

No, Adam just seems to enjoy watching Jim do mundane things, domestic things, things that really are not interesting enough to warrant that gaze.

It seems to calm him, somehow. He watches Jim make coffee in the particular, deliberate way Jim doesn’t really think about, and smiles when he finds him doing the ironing or making himself a sandwich.

Jim doesn’t mind.

It's nice, really. After so long alone, and so long in a fraught relationship before that, it's a pleasant departure from the stillness or the eggshells.

He drinks his coffee, glancing at Adam for a moment.

The aug’s interest has waned now that Jim isn’t doing anything but drinking his coffee, and he's curiously reading the blurb on the back of a book Jim picked up the other day.

His hair is a mess of soft spikes and it's obvious that he's run his fingers through it instead of styling it with gel.

His lenses are retracted, and his eyes are placid and calm as he reads, and Jim should feel guilty about him for a thousand different reasons.

He does. _Often_.

Other times, he indulges in shoving the guilt aside and enjoying what he's stolen.

Adam seems to feel him looking, and a self-conscious little expression crosses his face.

“What?” he asks gruffly, although his eyes are gentle.

Jim just shrugs.

“Nothing.” He says easily, and it's true. “Just thinking about you.”

There's the faintest hint of pink over those pale cheeks and Jim feels a sense of accomplishment over that.

Adam hums, looking at him in an oddly piercing way.

“I wish-" Adam starts, before he seems to think better of it and falls quiet again, thinking.

Jim raises an eyebrow.

“What?” he presses, “What did you wish for?”

Adam shrugs, a little defensive. No, that’s _embarrassment._

He meets Jim's eyes.

“I wish you could be happy.” He says quietly, and Jim feels a lump in his throat. “You deserve that.”

He doesn’t know what to _say_.

He opens his mouth and nothing comes out. Adam glances away, awkward.

Jim can’t have that.

He sets his coffee down and reaches for Adam's hand. It's warm from the coffee and cool in other places, and too hard to be mistaken for human skin.

He squeezes, and feels Adam lace their fingers together.

“I’m happy with _you_.” He says honestly, and the rawness of it flays him.

It's true.

Everything else in his life might have gone to shit but this- this is good.

It makes Jim feel warm and wanted and these days, that’s a tall order.

Adam swallows painfully and squeezes his hand.

Jim suspects Adam needed to hear that as much as he needed to say it.

They sit in the quiet, their hands joined, enjoying each other’s company.


	3. “How is this my fault?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You're a goddamn menace.”

“You're a goddamn menace.”

Jim can’t do more than mutter the condemnation at Adam and keep himself from making an embarrassing noise.

Adam grins into the flesh of Jim's throat, drawing his tongue over a spot he has bitten and suckled on until it blossomed into a bruise.

Jim should know better than to end up like this.

He is forty-eight years old dammit, and he’s acting like a horny teenager, getting his rocks off with a man his mother would have balked at.

Adam is a sweetheart though, despite appearances.

They had just about made it to Adam's apartment, and no sooner had Jim closed the door behind him was the aug pressing him against the wall and kissing him like he would drown without it.

Adam’s fingers, cool and hard and unnatural feeling, are playing with the hem of his turtleneck, and he feels the aug smile against his skin again.

For his part, Jim has his hands in that ridiculously over-styled hair, keeping Adam close.

And he _does_ want him close.

He grinds his hips against Adam's, and is rewarded with a cut off, punched out sound that makes him smile.

Adam escalates the situation by shrugging off his heavy coat, and then latching back onto Jim's neck like leech.

Well, perhaps calling him a leech is going a little far. Adam hasn’t drawn blood yet.

Still, the attention is going straight downward, and he can only grind uselessly against a metal palm that is pressed pleasantly between his legs.

“Bed?” he manages, wanting it so bad it’s like being cut open.

Adam just makes a noise that sounds like velvet over gravel, and gives Jim all _sorts_ of thoughts.

How is he ever going to see Adam in the office now? How is he going to listen to him talk about Dvali smuggling rings or bicker with Mac about paperwork when he knows that lovely voice can sound like _this?_

Those are questions he asks himself often, and his answers are always the same.

Somehow, he manages not to drop to his knees in the middle of the briefing room and suck Adam off then and there.

Somehow.

He drops his hands to grab a double handful and preens when Adam presses closer. He kneads firm flesh and indulges himself with a playful squeeze, to which the aug gives a raspy chuckle from where he’s sinking his teeth into the soft skin of Jim's throat.

“Bed.” Adam agrees, his voice making Jim's knees weak.

* * *

It's when Jim stumbles out of the shower is when it goes wrong.

They had spent longer in bed than they had planned to, and then longer still dozing amongst the rumpled sheets in each other’s arms.

It feels... weird.

Good, but weird.

Like this kind of shit doesn’t fit with him.

Jim isn’t supposed to be soft. He isn’t supposed to let Adam curl closer to him and wrap himself around Jim because of _course_ Adam likes to cuddle.

Jim doesn’t deserve this kind of goodness.

Adam definitely deserves better than a washed-up pencil pusher far past his prime with enough baggage to ground most commercial flights.

Adam isn’t free of issues, not at all, but his issues seem less... invasive to their relationship.

Relationship.

It's _strange_ to think that he’s in one. That he has that now.

Even if it needs to be kept quiet.

Jim doesn’t mind the secrecy.

He doesn’t think Adam minds either.

Even if they were allowed to see each other, being Adam's boss and all, they wouldn’t have flaunted it.

They’re not the type.

Well, Jim maybe more than Adam.

Adam would be more likely to touch him or do something affectionate in front of Mac to make the British man lose his breakfast.

Sometimes, he can be such a little _shit_.

Still, all the secrecy and sneaking around in the world isn’t going to help when Adam has left his neck looking like an octopus has gotten to him.

“Adam, what the _fuck_ is this?” he calls, staring at himself in the mirror of Adam's bathroom.

He delicately inspects the bruises blooming on his neck and collarbones, morbidly fascinated by how _many_ there are.

He cannot go out like this.

Adam pokes his head in, bare down to his hips and holding a bowl of cereal and a spoon.

He looks Jim up and down, amused.

“Looks like a handsome man in my bathroom.” He says around a mouthful of cereal.

Jim shoots him a withering look.

“Look what you’ve done to me.” He grinds out, giving Adam the look that has had many an agent quaking in their boots.

Adam just chews his cereal placidly.

“You weren’t complaining _before_.” He points out, and yeah, Jim hadn’t been complaining when he had a man out of his every dirty fantasy suckling the skin of his neck with his hand down Jim's pants.

“Adam.”

The aug raises his eyebrows, and Jim sees a twinkle in his eye. Damn him, having fun at Jim's expense.

“ _Jim_.”

“I look like I’ve been attacked by a squid.”

Adam stifles a laugh.

“You didn’t tell me not to.” He says pointedly, and Jim looks at him helplessly.

“How is this _my_ fault?” he asks, or more like splutters.

Adam looks at him so fondly, it takes his breath away.

“It looks good on you.” He says, voice warm and low. Jim shouldn’t still find him attractive with bed hair and a teasing grin at Jim's expense, spooning over-sugared cereal into his mouth, but somehow, he _does._

It's probably something to do with the lack of a shirt.

Jim feels the flush on his cheeks, and thanks whatever deity he can think of that he's not one to turn tomato.

Adam, on the other hand...

He pins Adam with a glare that is probably lessened by the fact he's in a pair of borrowed, too long sweatpants that trail on the floor and swallow his feet, and is _covered_ in love bites.

“You’re going to lend me something with a high collar.” He growls, but the sight of Adam smiling fondly at him blows his annoyance out like a candle.

Maybe he can give Adam a taste of his own medicine, one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so WEAK for grumpy-old-man-but-secretly-enjoys-being-soft Miller. 
> 
> And Adam, falling into his natural role of the Little Shit.


	4. “Is this really necessary?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's taken Jim a long time to figure out this habit of Adam's.

“Stay still, boss.”

Jim sighs, and he can’t make enough room through the pain to be properly annoyed. Instead he’s a strange sort of wobbly amused, and he knows that’s because his head his swimming in a cocktail of pain meds.

They’ll wear off soon, and he’ll regret being so loopy.

Adam is fussing over him and, pleasant as that would usually be, it’s concerning.

Adam is not, by nature, a fusser.

The fact that he’s doing so now rings sluggish alarm bells in Jim’s head.

“What’s the damage?” he asks, his voice sounding like an out of tune TV to his own ears.

Adam is grim, his shades firmly on and his mouth pulled into a thin line.

There is blood running from a cut at his hairline that’s slowly knitting back together, and he’s caught a bullet in his tac-vest.

His hands are slick with blood as he deftly presses a wad of gauze to Jim’s side.

“Bullet went straight through,” he grunted, using his other hand to scrabble around in the med kit. “We need to get you out of here.”

Jim manages a chuckle and then a curse as the action sends a fresh wave of liquid fire through his body.

His vision swims.

“Oh, fuck.” He hears himself say, before he’s slipping into blackness that’s warm and soft and has Adam’s voice all muffled and far away.

* * *

It’s honestly embarrassing how much people are fussing over him.

One would think he was even older than he was, Jim thinks uncharitably, as yet another nurse got too close to him for his liking.

He’s due to leave the hospital soon, and he can’t wait.

It isn’t that he thinks he doesn’t need to have been there, he is quite sure he did, but that he _hates_ feeling useless.

It reminds him of London, and those horrible months afterwards.

His side still aches, but the medical staff have done a brilliant job of patching him back together.

He got his own room too, which is nice.

A perk of being director, he supposes.

He can’t hold a sigh as the nurse finishes writing up the last of her notes. She gives him a tired smile, and he manages to summon enough manners to nod politely at her.

“Your ride home is here.” She informs him after consulting her glass pad, tapping at it with a speed Jim envies. Her accent is strong, but Jim has been in Prague long enough that he doesn’t notice it anymore.

Jim raises an eyebrow.

“I can make it home myself.”

She just nods, her eyes tired and distant.

“He’s waiting in reception.”

Jim is entirely too weary to argue, and that’s a bad sign.

The day Jim doesn’t spit and hiss at everything he doesn’t like is the day he should sit down and take a good look at himself.

He follows her down the immaculately white corridors, ignoring how his side twinges every time he moves.

He’s had worse.

A vague memory of horrified green eyes looking down at him while cool polymer hands fumble with a phial flits through his head.

He bats it away with practised ease.

It seems to take an age of winding corridors and the scent of antibacterial solution before they finally make it to the reception of this building, and Jim can’t help but stifle a laugh.

Adam looks so _ridiculous_.

The aug is sitting in one of those awful little plastic chairs cast in an assortment of cheery primary colours, and he looks completely out of place in his dark coat and- well, dark _everything._

He’s slouching a little, hunching his shoulders like he’s uncomfortable just existing.

He probably is.

People are taking pains to avoid him.

Jim makes a beeline.

“Jensen.” He greets, and Adam looks up from the papers he’s writing on.

A tiny, strained smile quirks his mouth, and Jim drinks him in.

“Boss.” Jensen greets, and that velvet gravel is the best thing Jim has heard in a week.

“Are you my new nurse?”

Jensen stands, unfolding himself to his true intimidating height. Jim always forgets how much of a presence Adam is when he hasn’t seen him in a while, and he absently wonders whether the awkward body language from earlier was for Adam’s benefit, or the people around him.

For a man who might as well be a whisper when he wants to be, he owns a room like he was born for it.

“Yessir, sponge bath and all.”

Jim should be annoyed at that comment.

As it is, he’s just relieved that he’s alive enough to hear it.

“I’ll demote you, Jensen.”

“If you say so, sir.”

Jim’s grin slips through the cracks and settles on his face like a favourite scarf.

God, it’s embarrassing how much better he feels now he’s not alone.

He walks himself over to the reception desk and begins the process of signing himself out, which is somewhat expedited by the paperwork Adam has apparently been filling out for him for the last half hour.

He makes it out to the car before he winces, pulling open the heavy door sending a lance of pain through his side and making him lose his breath.

In a moment, Adam is steadying him.

His shades are up, but Jim can sense him fretting.

Amused and a little exasperated, he takes note of how Adam is propping him up with one arm around his waist like he weighs nothing at all.

It’s completely over the top, and he tries not to like it.

Still, they’re alone enough now in this secluded spot were Adam had parked the car.

“Adam, is this really necessary?”

The aug glances at him and, without saying anything, holds him a little tighter.

“I’m not made of _glass_.”

“No, you’re not.” He agrees, opening the door with his other hand and letting Jim get into the car himself. “You would be just fine by yourself.”

He shuts the door for him and settles into the driver’s seat, glancing at Jim.

The shades are gone, and the difference is stark.

Jim marvels at green and gold, and how the crow’s feet around his eyes soften his face.

“But I’m here anyway.”

Jim appreciates that. He’s an asshole, but he’s not _stupid_.

This thing between them, this foolish, dangerous, and completely irresponsible thing, works because they know each other.

Jim knows Adam will mother him a bit, fuss and generally spoil him in his strange Adam way that to anyone else, probably wouldn’t count as care at all.

Jim also knows not to take offence, because Adam doesn’t think he’s useless.

It’s for Adam’s benefit just as much as his, and _fuck_ if that hadn’t been a difficult lesson to learn.

Adam likes to do things for people.

It would be sweet if it weren’t such a huge pain in the ass.

Honestly, Jim could do with some of Adam’s brand of care right now.

Beer, banter and some over-carbed food sounded like heaven, and the possibility of some comfort of the less professional variety was very tempting.

Adam was looking in that soft way that never failed to absolutely _flay_ Jim, and he swallowed thickly.

“Can we swing by mine before we head to yours?” he asks, aware that he has just invited himself over.

If he’s honest, he likes Adam’s place more than his own.

His place feels clinical and stark. Adam’s, despite the shitty neighbours and Adam’s questionable interior decorating, just felt _warmer._

Comfier, somehow.

Adam’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, and he starts the car.

Jim settled into the seat, and lets Adam take care of him for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tough 👏 guys 👏 in 👏 love 👏 is 👏 my 👏 jam


End file.
